


Poison Draught of You

by JoAsakura



Series: Shine on, you Crazy Snowflake (DMC) [3]
Category: Devil May Cry, Resident Evil 4 - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:31:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 2006 Yaoi-Con anthology. There's a shifting of power as two old friends go up against a deadly madman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boredom

**A fourth floor walkup, New York: Now.**

Of all the things that had tried (and failed) to kill him throughout his young life, it was the heretofore unconsidered thing called “boredom” that looked like it might finally succeed.

Leon Scott-Kennedy scratched through three day's worth of stubble and sighed, sprawling back on his couch. A well-deserved vacation, his superiors had called it, a little medical R&amp;R leave for his ordeal amongst the Ganados.

_Bullshit._ Leon rubbed his eyes. They didn't quite trust him anymore since the Plagas had been squirming through his vitals. By all accounts, they didn't trust that he'd been cured. With false smiles they kept him out of the bureau’s offices and each day a new, too-obviously inconspicuous car was parked across from his apartment.

It might be paranoia talking, but he was fairly certain they were reading his mail, monitoring his internet, and tapping his phone. _Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they're not out to get you._ It made him laugh, without much humor.

Hauling himself off the couch, he wandered to the window, catching a glimpse of the surveillance team scarfing down some dirty-water dogs from the vendor on the corner. He felt a little bad for them. This particular assignment couldn't be all that interesting from their perspective, either, he thought as he flipped through his takeaway menus.

_Christ, no. Just no. No more fucking pizza._ He tossed the menus down as he grabbed his coat. _Sorry, kiddies. Time to play follow the leader._

~~~~~~

Four blocks later, he was squashed in line at Morningstar's, waiting on a roasted veggie wrap and cup of soup. Reflected in the deli's shiny cabinets, he could see the surveillance agents sniffing wistfully. The deli was always crowded, so Leon wasn't much surprised when someone jostled in line behind him. What did surprise him was that the man -- about his height, more solid, very warm -- pressed even closer. Leon felt the familiar shape of a handgun pressing through both their coats and he stiffened.

Lips brushed against his ear and he tried not to flinch. “Jeezus, Agent Kennedy. It's not like I grabbed your ass or something.” He knew that voice. And it meant one thing.

Trouble.

Well, two things. He was probably also never going to get his sandwich.

“Sparda," he muttered, not glancing over his shoulder.“ You are going to get me in so much trouble.”

“Nah. It's OK.” He felt the other man turn around as the line shuffled forward. “But you an’ I are gonna take a little walk to the men's room in...just…a -- okay, _now_.” Leon swore he could hear the grin in the man's voice.

He practically dragged Leon out of line and across the deli to the bathrooms. Leon looked back out the window to see the two agents vomiting colorfully onto the sidewalk outside.

“You poisoned two federal agents,” Leon said crossly as the man shoved him into the bathroom. **“**_Goddamnit_, Sparda.”

“You know, you can always call me Dante.” Dark-silver eyebrows waggled a moment at Leon as he locked the door. “Look, it was a cheap trick, but it worked, and it's not gonna kill them or anything, okay?”

Leon rubbed his eyes and leaned against the sink. The bathroom was poorly heated, and it still felt stifling this close to Dante's body heat. Some things never changed. “You almost ruined my career last time we were in the same room.”

“Fuck your career, boy scout.” Dante leaned in closer and Leon ran out of room to retreat. “I'm here to save your life, the world, and maybe put the screws to hell while I'm at it, y'know?”

This close, Leon could smell cigarettes, leather, and the nebulous, demonic musk that made the demon hunter a hazard to himself and others.

He was definitely not going to get his sandwich.

~~~~~

**INTERLUDE: Then.**

Five years earlier and it wasn’t even his case.

It wasn’t his case, but he _was_ the bureau’s rookie and that had garnered him the singular displeasure of watching the Ferrino family’s coldest gun -- just for a few minutes -- while they got coffee.

He hated them.

The young man sitting across from him was no older than he was, but his eyes -- they weren’t like the cold of Racoon City’s living dead -- they were cold like stars. Leon shuddered despite the warmth of the room. The 9mm holstered under his arm was a reassuring weight, even if the sweat was leaking though his shirt, sticking the fabric to the leather.

“You really ought to get a better brand of anti-perspirant, Agent...?” The young man leaned forward, offering a wolf’s smile.

In return, Leon tried not to spare a glance down to his traitorous cock, stiffening hopefully in his new Brook's Brother’s trousers.

“Kennedy.” The name slipped out and Leon cursed himself.

“Kennedy. Dead president. Cute.” The man leaned further forward, setting his chin on his hands, silver-white hair falling down across his face. “You know, they’re just fucking with you.”

Something shifted behind the man’s pale eyes, and Leon felt a chill crawl up his spine. “What the hell are you?” His shoulders stiffened.

“Your coworkers, they haul me in periodically because they’re under the mistaken impression that I’m some sort of gangster and that I’ll magically make their RICO case against the Ferrinos appear.” The crystalline eyes suddenly warmed, crinkling slightly.

“You’re _not _a gangster, Mister…ah…Sparda?” Leon shifted uncomfortably. 

Dante Sparda laughed suddenly. “Christ, _no. _I’m…in extermination.”

That made Leon uncomfortable in another way entirely.

Eventually, the senior agents returned and cut the silver-haired young man loose. As he got up, passing Leon, he leaned in close, lips brushing the edge of his ear. “Devil May Cry,” he whispered.

They didn’t let Leon live down his barely-stifled moan for weeks.

~~~~

**Close quarters, men’s room: Now.**

“All right. I’m listening.” Leon folded his arms. Dante Sparda didn’t particularly frighten him anymore, but there was still the matter of the traitor south-of-the-border. “Save my life? The only thing I’m in danger of right now is starvation, if you don’t let me get my goddamn lunch.”

Dante rolled his eyes. “I’ll buy you a _goddamn_ _sammich_ later, okay?” He tapped his foot. “Look, this is a shitty situation.”

“No pun intended?” Leon gestured to Morningstar’s surprisingly clean bathroom.

“None.” Dante deadpanned, then grew serious. “Ke…Leon, why do you think they took you off active duty?”

Leon shrugged as much as he could in the cramped space. He was starting to feel a little claustrophobic. “They think I was somehow compromised by the Plagas in my system.” The grim smirk he got in response was unnerving. “No?”

“They already _know_ you were compromised.” Dante closed the remaining inches between them and pressed his hands on the mirror at Leon’s back. “Beneficial mutations from the Plagas. They’re just sitting back and waiting for you to show them some fireworks.” He nipped at Leon’s ear. “Me, too.”

Leon shoved him back with startling force and blinked, then shook his head. “Bullshit. If that’s the case then how come I’m not locked up in a lab? It’s not like they didn’t give me a physical when I got back from Europe. You know…controlled environments? Science?” He wiggled his fingers in Dante’s direction as punctuation on the last word.

“If someone locked you up and stuck a bunch of needles in you, what’d be the first thing you’d do?” Dante folded his arms.

“Escape,” Leon admitted, raking back his hair.

“Damn skippy, son.”

Leon could feel the pale eyes boring into him as Dante spoke.

 “This way, you’re bored, but you’re not going anywhere they can’t keep an eye on you. Complacent. And if something happens? Well, acceptable losses.” He shrugged.

“Why do you even give a shit?” Something was nagging at the back of Leon’s brain.

“For fuck’s sake, do you think someone just whipped the Plagas up in a batch of fucking sea monkeys?” Dante made a dismissive gesture. “Back when, some scumbag in Hell’s R&amp;D labs cooked them up and introduced them into an environment where they’d do just friggin’ great.”

“There was a sample…,” Leon started and Dante nodded.

“Yeah, your _girlfriend_? Wong? Sold it to a guy named Tony Zhu. Sound familiar?”

“Former boy genius turned drug lord and human trafficker extraordinaire. He’s got connections all the way from Hong Kong to Columbia.” He shook his head and let his breath out in a whoosh. “Man. If Wesker wasn’t going to kill her before...damn.”

“It gets better.” Dante pressed himself to the door, then unlocked it, peering out. “Look. We’ve been in here too long and I totally don’t feel like dealing with any of your babysitters once they recover.”

They both peeked out the door, and Leon felt very stupid. On the other hand, the agents were sitting outside, looking miserable. “Backup’s not here, yet.”

“Good. Let’s go.” He hauled Leon out of the bathroom. “Oi! Lucchi! I gotta use the back door!” He shouted to the middle-aged man taking orders as he vaulted the counter.

“You know where it is. And make sure your friend minds the fryers. They’re hot as hell.” The man rubbed his neat black beard and winked at Leon.

Leon stared hard at the man for a moment before following Dante. “_Morningstar_. Damnit, man. I eat here every week. Do _not_ tell me the mortadella is made out of the flesh of the damned.” He scowled mightily at Dante.

“Don’t be stupid. The mortadella is made from pork. Just don’t ask what’s in the mayonnaise dressing.” Dante grinned at him, scrambling up the rusty fire escape with ridiculous ease.

**INTERLUDE: Then.**

“Devil May Cry.”

Leon had stalked back to his desk and promptly looked up Dante Sparda’s file. He was furious with himself. City full of zombies? No problem. Black Ops training with Krauser and Co.? No. Problem. He was cool and he was tough. So why had the white-haired man in Interrogation Room 4 made him feel like he was fourteen?

“Sonovabitch,” he muttered to no one in particular as he leafed through the file. It was surprisingly thin, and what there was of it made almost no sense.

Except the address for the place that had been whispered in his ear.

That night he found himself standing on a decrepit street corner. Above, a neon sign guttered, humming. “Devil May Cry,” Leon murmured. But the windows were dark.

Down the street drums and bass shook the night. The area wasn’t entirely abandoned, Leon noticed. He could feel eyes on him as he walked toward the bar in his expensive federal agent’s suit and shiny shoes.

He pushed open the graffiti-covered door to the Bullseye, ignoring the drunks hovering outside. Inside, the music was still muffled, pumping through the back wall. The conversation skidded to a halt. Leon sat himself down at the bar.

“Getcha a glass of milk and a twinkie, there, Junior?” the burly man behind the bar asked without any mirth.

“I’m looking for someone. Dante.” Leon stared the man down.

The bartender snorted and set down his bar rag. “Next door.” He jerked a thumb toward the back. “Your funeral. Good suit fer that.”

Leon got up. “Thanks.” He was making his way to the other side of the room when someone shoved into him.

“You push me, pussy?” the man shouted in his face, stinking of booze and sweat, shoving his fingers into Leon’s chest. “You t’ink you can come in here and just PUSH ME?”

Leon rolled his eyes. “If I bumped into you, sorry. I’m not looking for a fight.” The guy had at least a head and a hundred pounds on him and was completely oblivious to the fact that he was going to lose miserably to a little guy in a tie.

When the first punch came, Leon simply sidestepped before grabbing the man’s arm and dislocating his elbow. In the next motion he’d swept the bigger man’s feet out from under him and dropped him, pressing a knee into the man’s throat.

“Someone ought to call him an ambulance.” He got up and dusted himself off, not sparing a backwards glance, if only so no one would see his stupidly pleased little grin. No one else bothered him.

When he passed through the door into the adjacent club he was unprepared for the sea of gyrating, semi-nude flesh. He almost preferred the bikers.

~~


	2. Traveling

**Rooftops on a cold, gray day, New York: Now.**

Perched on a rooftop blocks away, Leon was starting to seriously consider the consequences of Dante’s offhand "beneficial mutations" comment. "All right, snowflake, talk to me.”

Dante chuckled and looked out at the city around them. “Tony Zhu’s not just your garden-variety global scumbag. If he was, I wouldn’t be bothered.”

“You can’t be bothered with what humans do to each other?” Leon tilted his head.

“Something like that.” Dante leaned on the edge of the rooftop to look back at Leon. “Our boy Tony’s got what you might call a hobby. Bastard likes to call himself 'Yi Bing' when he’s playing dress-me-up demon.”

“Yi Bing?” Leon made a helpless gesture.

“Plague. Fucker fancies himself one of the Four.” Dante raked his hair back.

“The four...what, Horsemen? Pestilence.” Leon shook his head. “He’s going to release the Plagas throughout mainland China? Jesus, Dante. I barely survived a pretty localized infestation of those things.”

“Leon,” Dante pushed off the low wall and walked over to him, taking his wrist in a loose grip, “if my sources are right, your blood’s the way to neutralize the sample.”

“Like some amped-up white blood cell.” Leon didn’t meet Dante’s pale gaze. “So…I guess we’re going to Hong Kong?”

“Damn skippy.” Dante grinned and there was a brief displacement of energy, a flash of dark red light that hit Leon’s retinas like blow to the head. _{{I can travel faster this way. We need to walk some pretty dark paths.}}_ The voice that came out of the sculpted black of the demon’s face was as much in Leon’s brain as it was in his ears. Dark wings, steel rebar wrapped in silk velvet, pulsed the air. _{{C’mon. Don’t act like this is new information.}}_

“I was going to suggest a nice flight into Chep Lap Kok, not the Brimstone Express.” Leon inched toward Dante’s wings. “Maybe some time to pick up some weapons for myself?”

_{{We don’t have time for that. If you’re a good boy, I promise we can take an airplane home.}} _Inhumanly strong arms picked Leon up, unnaturally warm as they held him. _{{And don’t worry about guns. I can get us guns.}}_

Leon silently cursed the traitor in his pants. “You don’t have to hold on so tight,” he said crossly.

_{{Trust me. You don’t want me to let go where we’re goin’_._}}_ There was a feral show of teeth Leon assumed was supposed to be a smile. It wasn’t particularly reassuring.

~~~

**Hell as a Means of Transportation: Now.**

Racoon City and Pueblo, Hell on Earth. He could handle Hell on Earth. For an actual trip through an actual Hell, though, he kept his eyes shut. The smells and sounds were enough to make him certain he wasn’t going to sleep for a year.

“I…I thought you_ hunted_ demons.” He had to shout over the sulfur winds and the steady beating of the black wings around him.

_{{Just the ones that come topside to fuck things up. Not everybody wants t’rule the world, y’know.}}_ Dante laughed. It sounded like plates of rusty metal rubbing together. _{{Some places here, being the son of Sparda actually gets me an easier time. We leave each other alone.}}_ There was another rumbling laugh. _{{Don’t tell me you’re _scared_?}}_

“Shut up and fly. I’m not scared. This is nothing,” Leon lied through his teeth.

_{{Big words, little man.}}_ They dived suddenly and Leon felt his ears pop as the unearthly stench was immediately replaced by the comforting aroma of urban smog. He pried his eyes open to see Hong Kong. They had appeared in an alley, the city’s din a physical force around them.

Dante’s human face grinned as he set Leon down. “Don’t barf. It’s really unprofessional.”

“I hate you.” Leon put his head down a moment while he tried to get his balance. “Okay. Weapons. Tony Zhu.” He paused. “Look, I know well enough not to question your sources.” His jaw worked for a moment.

“But?” Dante looked up from the two massive hand cannons he was checking over.

“But you just dragged me through hell and halfway across the planet. If Zhu’s planning something this big…this…hideous…the government…our….” He looked at Dante for a moment. “My government. They’ve got to know about something like this….”

“So where are the white knights busting this up? Aren’t any." The two guns spun in Dante’s hands before they landed back in the shoulder holsters he was wearing under his coat. “Umbrella. They’ve made sure all the big dogs in this show got themselves a genie in a bottle.” Dante’s smirk had completely evaporated. “Their trump card.”

“A counteragent? But how? When we got out of Pueblo….” Leon suddenly closed his eyes. “We…. Oh, fuck. No. Ashley?” _Ashley. She would have the same antibodies I do. That’s why they were happy just letting me be, they already had a control subject. _“God_damnit_, Dante! YOU MOTHERFUCKER! You knew about this all along and you didn’t..!?” He hauled off and landed a blow across the demon hunter’s jaw. It felt like slamming his fist into the side of a refrigerator. “I was supposed to protect her….” Too-warm hands closed over his aching one, and for the first time since they’d met, Leon saw…pity? No -- compassion -- in the devil hunter’s pale eyes.

Leon let himself lean against Dante’s broader chest for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. They stood like that in silence for several long moments, Dante’s rough hands stroking through his hair. “Zhu. So he’s one of Umbrella’s errand boys. Horseman of the Apocalypse?  Fine. Let’s go kick his motherfucking ass.”

Dante, for once, didn’t say anything.

~~~

**INTERLUDE: Then.**

The atmosphere inside of “Love Planet” had an air of orgiastic desperation. _Party like it’s the Apocalypse,_ Leon thought. The longer he was in the midst of the sweaty, writhing, semi-nude partiers, enveloped by the red velvet walls and the thumping heartbeat of the drums and bass, the more…natural it felt. It felt alive.

Without thinking, he loosened his tie and someone pressed a drink into his hand. He wheeled to find himself face to-sweat-sheened face with his prey. “Sparda!” he half-shouted over the music.

“Agent Kennedy. Man. Let me guess; you stopped by my office?” He had a beautiful woman, skin like polished mahogany, on one arm. She was half-ignoring him, listening to the music.

Leon watched her for a moment, mesmerized. She lifted up onto her toes. “I see Redgrave over there, baby.” She flashed Leon a gaze like embers. “You play nice,” she murmured, planting a kiss on Dante that made Leon feel faint.

“Aisha, when do I not? And ask that jerk where my guns are.” He grinned as she wandered off. “Business associate. I have the best job in the entire universe.” He grinned, reaching for Leon’s tie. “So. What? You wanted to see me?”

Leon swatted Dante’s hands away. “You tell me. You were the one who told me where you work,” he said crossly, ignoring the not unpleasant discomfort he was feeling.

“You’ve been through hell and back. I could see it in your eyes. I like that.” He took his drink back from Leon and took a swig. “Fits you better than this suit you’re wearing.”

“Racoon City,” Leon blurted out. He hadn’t meant to say it, but…. There was an approving nod.

“Thought so. Survivor. That’s cool. Not many humans would’ve survived that.” He was fiddling with Leon’s tie again. “I’m actually a little impressed, Agent Kennedy.”

“Human. And you’re…not?” Leon swallowed as he let the other man take off his tie. Someone bumped into him, dancing, and pushed them closer together.

“Maybe something better, maybe something worse.” Dante murmured in Leon’s ear. “Definitely something worth investigating.”

~~

**The Bird Garden, Mong Kok District, Hong Kong: Now.** ****

Anyone else would’ve had a hard time imagining that the delicate old man before them was actually an arms dealer. He seemed barely to have any more weight to him than the birds fluttering in the surrounding cages. Leon simply accepted it as par for the course.

It was well past closing time, and the Bird Garden was virtually empty except for the travelers sitting in the little old man’s stall. He exchanged a rapid-fire conversation with Dante before turning his attention to Leon, papery fingers closing over the younger man’s wrist.

“Mmm…. Good calluses, tendon strength. Smallish hands,” he said in crisp Oxford English. His wrinkled-apple face broke into a wide grin. “I have just the thing for you, young man. The Mockingbird.”

“The…what?” Leon looked to Dante for clarification, but the devil hunter had lost interest in them.

“Come on, I’ll show you. I may have nothing but free time, but I’m certain the two of you don’t,” he said kindly as he routed through stacks of bamboo boxes. “Ah. Here she is.” The rubberized black case he retrieved was completely at odds with the homespun feel of the man’s shop. He held it up, pressing his thumb to a sensor on the frame.

“The Mockingbird,” he said proudly as he produced the weapon for Leon. “One of my favorites, I must say.”

Leon examined the gun quickly. “Modified Beretta 92G-SD special duty. You do nice work,” he murmured approvingly, accepting a shoulder harness and magazines from the case as well.

“She should serve you well.” The old man smiled. “_Xue hua_, your friend has excellent taste,” he called to Dante.

“Thank you, Feng. I really owe you one.” Dante scratched through his white hair.

“Nonsense, son of Sparda. Now go. You have work to do.” The birds grew restless as he spoke then quieted, soft feathers floating about the shop.

Dante closed his hand over Leon’s arm. “Let’s go.”

~~~

**Nightlife, SoHo, Hong Kong: Now.**

Leon knew his way around Tony Zhu’s dossier. The man was not exactly noted for keeping a low profile. On the contrary, he seemed to consider himself utterly superior in every way, and the HK authorities’ reluctance to go anywhere near him only bolstered that impression.****

Zhu was also a world-class party boy with a voraciously equal-opportunity sexual appetite. He wasn’t shy about his top spots, which is how they found him, entering Club Propaganda off a discreet alley**. **The district’s streets were alive with nightlife, and Leon made a note to come back some time when he wasn’t rushing into possible doom.

“Our guy likes himself a good time.” Dante watched as Zhu’s entourage waltzed past the slab of meat at the door. “Let’s go have a good time with him.”

“I can’t afford the cover charge,” Leon muttered as they walked over to the door.

“It’s on me.” Dante grinned up at the man at the door. “How ya doin'?”

“I’m doing fine.” He looked them both over. “You’ve got a good look, but it’s a little dodgy for this place. You might want to move on." The bouncer parted his coat just a bit to show the handgun holstered there. “We don’t like trouble here.”

Leon stepped back as Dante lifted the man up. “I’m not here to make trouble for you, pal. Trust me on that.” Leon couldn’t see Dante’s face from where he stood, but the look of sheer terror in the bouncer’s eyes told him enough.

The bouncer passed out, a dribble of piss staining his pants was the frosting.

“You are the scariest person I know, and that’s saying a lot.” He carefully stepped around them as Dante propped the man up against the wall. He didn’t have to look to sense the cheesy grin on the other man's face.

Inside the club, sleek young men writhed on poles to a relentless C-Pop mix. Zhu was busily engaged in getting an energetic lap dance when he glanced at them over the dancer’s shoulder.

Leon let the eye contact linger, feeling a shiver down his spine as he made his way to the bar. Dante had disappeared into the crowd, a feat that never ceased to amaze him. The guy looked like no one else, and yet if he didn’t want to be noticed, he simply wasn’t; which actually was fine as far as Leon was concerned. He was the one who needed to get close to Zhu to get the sample and neutralize it. Dante was just his support. 

A man he recognized from Zhu’s entourage approached him, and Leon did his best to turn on the charm. Charm wasn’t a quality he thought he possessed, but there was something to be said for pretending – he could mimic the way Luis had looked at him, the way Dante carried himself when he was interested.

Nothing wrong with a little pretending.

“Boss thinks you’re pretty cute,” the man rumbled at him.

Leon lifted his drink in salute. The guy was a giant slab of meat wrapped in Armani; something about him reminding Leon not a little bit of Krauser. _Something else, though…_a tinge of something fetid in the club’s sex-heavy air…a twitch of tiny facial muscles…. _PLAGAS! He’s infected._ Leon kept Luis’s languid expression carefully in place.

“Yeah. Cute. Look like you think a little too much fer my taste.” The man put his hand, easily as big as Leon’s head, on his arm. “He really wants you t’come join him fer a little drink.”

“How can I possibly say no?” He gave the man one of Dante’s infuriating little grins, trying not to wince at his touch. He could feel the man’s clammy hand through his jacket. “Lead on, big guy. I’m all yours.”

 

**INTERLUDE: Then.**

It was just the sort of thing to ruin his career.

But tucked away in one of “Love Planet’s” private party rooms, pounding music vibrating through the plush red banquette, Leon was too busy to care.

There was a trail of clothing, mostly Leon’s, leading from the door, and he was occupied by the texture of Dante’s fever-warm tongue. _The man could kiss. Holy hell, the man could kiss_, Leon thought, as the other man abandoned his mouth to leave what would later prove to be a spectacular collection of hickeys from his throat to his navel. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a feeling of…relief? Release? He wasn’t certain. 

He just knew that years of hiding who he was in the closet behind his uniforms was coming to a head. _Pun. God._ “Bad pun,” he murmured.

“You think w-a-a-y too much, Agent Kennedy.” Dante had pushed him down into the plush seating, leaning over him with a wholly predatory grin. “Although, I gotta say, if Uncle Sam’s pushin’ out any more like you, I’m gonna be way more cooperative with the feds from now on.”

“You really are a big jerk,” Leon muttered, reaching up to tug the silvery hair.

“Part of my charm.”

There was the single most lascivious wink Leon could ever remember seeing, before Dante picked up where he’d left off, calluses scraping across Leon’s hipbone as he slid the grey slacks down.

“And you’re cranky and repressed, but it’s cute.”

Leon would’ve complained, but Dante did something involving his tongue on Leon’s cock that made the kissing seem suddenly lacking. It was then that Leon decided the man had a tongue that could tie a girder in a square knot.

He also decided that if they didn’t fuck in the next two minutes, he was going to die.

It wasn’t his day to die, but Dante’s cock jackhammering him into the red-velvet cushions would’ve been in his top five ways to go.

~~~~~

**Sex in the City, Hong Kong: Now.**

Under very different circumstances, Leon might’ve considered Tony Zhu attractive. He had a sleek, feral beauty, long fingers moving gracefully as he spoke.

“I noticed you when you came in...what’s your name?”

“L…Luis. Luis Sera. I’m on holiday.” _Under different circumstances. And what might those be? If he wasn’t scum of the earth? Infected with a demonic parasite? Likely to kill me as soon as look at me? Yeah. Awesome._ He would’ve felt better if he knew where his backup was.

“Luis, you seem nervous.” Zhu leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands, glossy black hair reflecting the club’s swirling lights. “Little fish, I could just devour you whole, right now.” He grabbed Leon’s wrist suddenly, jerking him against the table and licking the veins on its underside. “But you might upset my stomach.” Something red moved behind his eyes. “Agent Kennedy.”

Leon kept himself still. He could feel the inhuman strength in Zhu’s grip, and he still carried the scars of going toe to toe with other infected ones. _Any fucking time now, snowflake. If you’re busy chatting up some go go boy at the bar, I’m going to haunt you for eternity._

“You’re not even going to ask, are you?” Zhu pouted. “I’m hurt.”

“Someone sold me out.” Leon watched the red-tinged eyes. “Ada? Wesker? Of course, if letting you do the super-villain soliloquy is going to keep me alive longer, don’t let me stop you.” His tongue felt thick, the words blurring together, and Leon shook his head._ Drugged?_

“Oh, that’s really ungracious of me.” Zhu ran one perfect nail along the vein in Leon’s wrist. “This isn’t just my favorite club; it’s MY club and I pride us on service, which is why I’m making sure your boyfriend will be taken care of, too. He’ll make a magnificent host.”

He was still talking, but Leon was too busy slumping into darkness to hear.

~~~


	3. Realisation

**Between a rock and a hard place, Hong Kong: Now.**

When Leon woke up, feeling as if his brain were seven sizes too big for his skull, he was surprised. Not because he was handcuffed to a bare cot, the mattress stinking of former horrors, or because he was still alive and had all his body parts, but because he still had his clothes. It was oddly comforting that he might get out of this situation with his dignity still intact.

When his vision unfogged enough to focus on Zhu, he felt that hope float to the surface like a dead goldfish. His captor was simply a man who enjoyed unwrapping presents.

Irises glowing red in the dim light, Zhu studied him intently from where he sat. He’d exchanged his sharp suit for a robe, imperial and ornate. The elaborate embroidery made Leon’s eyes hurt. Zhu’s fingers caressed the swirling horns on the mask that rested beside him on a table, neatly arranged with items. “You're awake? Good. I was getting bored watching you sleep, Agent Kennedy, and as you can imagine, I hate that.” He got up from his seat and poured himself a cup of tea.

As Zhu closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of the tea, Leon tested his bonds. Given time alone, he could probably get out of the handcuffs. Shifting his weight told him his holster was still on, the gun gone. A quick survey of the room showed it tucked snugly down the waistband of one of Zhu's thugs_. Great. Just fucking splendid._

Zhu opened his eyes and took a sip before setting the cup down. “Interesting little factoid about the Plagas parasite.” He smiled, showing far too many teeth as he picked up the elegant teapot he'd poured from. “The microscopic Plagas egg remains dormant in temperatures below 10°C. Once the temperature rises, the egg develops into a larva. In this state,” he ran his finger slowly around the spout of the teapot, “it can reproduce asexually for…oh, thirty generations if necessary.” Zhu leaned forward, pressing his moistened finger to Leon's lips. “They start to get truly active, though, once the temperature reaches…about 37°C -- body temperature.”

Leon stiffened. “The water. You’re going to infect...?” he whispered, horrified and Zhu tapped his lips.

“Good boy.” There was that shark’s smile again. “At that temperature, the larva's offspring develop barbed tails and other organs with which to infect a host. Once a human, or similar vertebrate host, is infected, the Plagas offspring develop into their final form in which they take over.”

Zhu flexed his fingers, long nails extruding from the tips, and raked them down Leon's front. They sliced through the fabric of his shirt and left faint red welts on the fair skin beneath. “Don’t look so surprised. I was a biologist before I realized it wasn’t going to help me bring my dreams to life.”

Leon tried to swallow, but his mouth was pathetically dry. “You’re so careful with me, _huh_. Afraid to draw my blood, Zhu? Oh, that's right, it’s full of antigens.”

“True, that.” Zhu tipped the teapot, dribbling the tea on Leon's chest.

It stung, and Leon's imagination provided him with a grotesque image of thousands of tiny, scrabbling Plagas larvae as the heady scent made his head swim

“You didn't think I was keeping you alive for your cute looks, did you, Agent?” he murmured, leaning in to lick the tea off of Leon.

His tongue was disturbingly coarse, not pleasantly so, but like a cheese grater rasping against already inflamed skin.

“I'm going to cut you every day, and take a little…taste,” he whispered against Leon's ear, sharp teeth nicking the edge, “of your blood. Build up a resistance. And then, my children will carry that immunity.” He stroked Leon's cheek with a claw, a hair-thin streak of red beading in its wake. “Hmm. That's not very fair, is it? _Our_ children then. I'll make sure they know who helped make them strong.”

Leon forced his eyes to stay open, to watch Zhu as the claws raked down his jeans, shredding the thick fabric. Dante wasn’t coming; he knew that now. He wasn’t sure if the half-demon had betrayed him for some reward that Leon couldn’t understand, or if he was incapacitated or…dead.

Leon had always been fairly certain that Dante was indestructible, so that last choice was probably out.

Zhu’s too-rough tongue tore at the welts his claws left behind on Leon’s thighs, black hair a maddeningly silky tickle in its wake. “Your blood…it’s bitter.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “You’re an acquired taste. Can I call you Leon? It seems so impersonal to keep calling you Agent Kennedy.”

Leon felt himself tremble and he tried to fight it. It only increased, though, until he realized something.

It wasn’t him. It was the floor.

There was a muffled sound, an explosion that rocked the faintly glowing bulbs dangling from the ceiling. Zhu turned away to address his thugs and barked an order at them in Mandarin.

It was probably the only chance Leon was going to get. He twisted, bringing up one booted foot to slam into the side of Zhu’s head. The impact was satisfying, sending the robed man sprawling.

Zhu shook it off, red eyes baleful. “_You…_are a little bitch, Leon.” The heavy fabric of his robe surged, Zhu’s arm twisting into a deadly blade. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you apart.”

The room’s heavy door suddenly crashed inward.

“Tony, Tony. You are one sick little fuck.” Dante leaned in the doorway. He looked more haggard than Leon had ever seen before, clothes in tatters. He tossed one of Zhu’s men on the floor, the Plagas parasite half-extruding from the man’s head. “Didn’t your momma tell you it was rude to stick shit in people?”

Zhu smirked. “You two are much more interesting than I initially gave you credit for.” His bladed hand shone dully as he launched himself at Dante with a growl.

Leon tore his attention away from Zhu's and Dante’s fight. The broken thug on the floor still had the Mockingbird shoved in his pants. _Which isn’t going to do dick for me if I don’t get out of this. _He twisted his hands, struggling against the cuffs as Dante shouldered Zhu into the wall. _C’mon, c’mon. Beneficial mutation? Shit. Come on, you BASTARD! _He wrenched his hands free, the metal-barred headboard twisting as he did.

Sparks flew over his head as he scrambled across the floor, yanking the gun away from the infected corpse. He rolled and pulled the trigger twice, the bullets slamming into the back of Zhu’s skull.

One twisted arm shooting out to pin Dante against a wall, Zhu turned his head to look disdainfully at Leon. “Tiresome.” His voice had a hollow sound to it, the Plagas taking over his body. He backhanded Leon across the room and snatched something off the table, bounding out the door on growing insectoid legs.

“Sonovabitch,” Dante rasped, hauling himself up. “I’m gonna.…” There was a wet splitting sound and both men looked over at the broken body of Zhu’s man. The parasite was consuming the man’s flesh, growing and flailing. “Aw, crap. I’ll handle the slug. Go find Zhu. I’ll bet that was the sample he grabbed.”

Leon scrambled up, not sparing another glance as the parasite attacked Dante. The hallways beyond the room he’d been in were dark and twisting. Leon cursed, trying to peer into the darkness. The Mockingbird felt sticky in his grasp, blood oozing from his abraded wrists. “Where are you?” he whispered to himself.

“Here.” The voice was right at his ear as Zhu’s claws tore into his back. The attack slammed Leon forward, pain screaming across his spine. He spun, bringing the gun to bear.

“The bullets hurt but they can’t kill me. You’re outclassed, Leon,” Zhu mocked, lunging.

“Isn’t for you,” Leon grunted, squeezing the trigger. His vision was graying out but he knew where he was shooting. The canister clutched in one of Zhu’s new extra arms shattered, infected fluid spattering everywhere. In the next moment, one of Zhu’s claws plunged through his stomach.

Zhu screamed in rage and Leon just grinned, watching his blood seep into the splattered sample. “I never liked our kids anyways,” he said, emptying the magazine into Zhu’s head.

As his vision dimmed he heard the electrical hiss of Dante’s demon sword. _That’s that, then._

“LEON!”


	4. Awakening

**INTERLUDE: Then.**

He was straddling Dante, rocking against the so-very-warm cock buried inside him. Rough calloused hands scraped down his back. “This…. This is a one time thing.”

“Course,” Dante grunted, “unless you stop by again.” He punctuated his words with sharp kisses on Leon’s throat. “Shame you’re not stronger. I wouldn’t mind bein’ on the bottom next time.”

“No.… Next.…Time.…” Leon hissed as he ground against Dante. “Nope....”

“Sh’yeah.”

Leon was too busy coming to complain any further.

~~~~

**Heaven smells like feathers: Now.**

He was certain he was dead. Heaven sounded like chattering birds and something kept squawking at him.

“Leon? Jeezus, Kennedy!”

No. Not squawking. He blinked slowly, looking up at Dante and the old man. _Feng._

“I’m…not dead?” he croaked, sitting up gingerly. “...the hell?” They were in a crowded apartment, caged birds chattering amongst the piles of books. A stiff white sheet was draped around him, tattered clothes gone.

Feng sat back on a cushion. “Well, Agent Kennedy. You gave Xue Hua a bit of a scare.”

“Shut up. Did not. I knew he was gonna be okay,” Dante groused.

“Wait. What? How?” He ran his hands across his stomach, finding no sign of Zhu’s attack.

“The changes the parasites wrought on your system, modified your body to be a better host,” Feng said calmly, pouring himself a cup of tea. “You healed with very little assistance.”

Leon felt vaguely queasy and looked away to where Dante sat on his heels.

“So. Don’t think you can go back to Uncle Sam now, can you?” There was no irritating smirk, just an open, questioning look on his face.

Leon lay back, staring at Feng’s ceiling. “Huh. I guess not.” He glanced over at Dante again. “Why? You’ve got some ideas?”

There was the smirk again. “Yeah. I might have a few.”

END.

 

 

 

 


End file.
